Saving the Saviour
by Baroness Hera
Summary: The battle for Erebor is over. It is time to rebuild Dale and Lake-Town. But Bard the Bowman doesn't know that his very life is in danger. It is up to Bain, Sigrid and Tilda to save their father from mortal peril, with a little help from their friends. Film-centric. Spoilers abound. FINAL CHAPTER UP NOW!
1. Chapter 1

_Hi guys! This is my first Middle Earth fic. Hope you enjoy it. You can tell that Bard the Bowman is my favourite character because I wanted a father like him. That hope was dashed to smithereens._

**Epilogue**

Such is the nature of elves that their hearts love fiercely when there is hope for love. They can love for thousands and thousands of years even ones who have passed when they know the hope of meeting again with their eternal companion in the world beyond the Undying Lands and this mortal world exist in their minds. But once that hope is dashed, put into ruins, that love will be forgotten. Maybe not in memory, but in deed.

That happens when Legolas sees how Tauriel, the one he was prepared to die for, pines for the black-haired dwarf even when he is clearly now a vessel. That fierce love he had for Tauriel is now gone. He leaves Tauriel not in anger, nor in resentment nor in frustration. It is just a forgetting of doing things. A forgetting of actions. He no longer waits, or contemplates what she thinks, or walks by her side. She is not his eternal companion. Tauriel's heart belongs to the dwarf, even in death.

But Legolas never forgets the fiery haired Silvan elf. Tauriel has said things that will forever be etched in his mind.

_Since when we let evil become stronger than us?_

_Are we not part of this world?_

Middle Earth is no longer a world without fault. Mirkwood is not a sanctuary unaffected by the troubles of the mortals. The time of the elves will end when Middle Earth ends. He knows that. It is no longer about Tauriel. He understands his place in the world. His kind is granted wisdom, longevity beyond mortal comprehension, and strength and endurance that put his kind above of all creatures on Arda.

He will no longer be a watcher of ages. Still in immortality, unthinking, unfeeling, without fear or compassion. There is no life in being dead in the heart.

Legolas walks on, out of the peak of the accursed mountain of death. There is much too look to.

The battle leaves ruins in stones and souls, and he has much to look to.

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 1**

The horn blasts across the ruined city of Dale signalling the end of war, but Bain feels a quiet nagging in the pit of his stomach. He feels safe with the weight of his father's arms on one shoulder and the closeness of his sisters Sigrid and Tilda, to the warmth of their father's body should only makes him feel all the more secure. But Bain still feel that familiar tingle that is both the gift and the curse of his life. Some call it premonition, some call it instinct, some call it a hunch, or a gut feeling. It is the feeling that he got when his father was late from his trip to the mouth of the Anduin, collecting discarded from the elves. But, despite his worse imagination, his father came back. He wasn't all wrong though. Bringing a company of dwarves with him, the pinch at the pit of his stomach has proven that his gift is true and tested. The dwarves' coming led to the destruction of Lake-Town with many lives lost, despite the victory of ruins at the end.

Bain now confirms it in his mind that the feeling they call many names is a sign of something bad is going to happen. Still, he waits, as there is not much he can do with all gut feeling. At times he was able to act on it, only if he saw an opportunity. Most of the times, he was helpless, and was only able to make conclusions in restrospective.

Bain only hopes that this is the one that he can act on.

Neighbours, acquaintances, strangers and enemies shook hand with his father, the unofficially proclaimed King of Lake-Town. They owed him their lives. He understands that. But he also that understands that people who spied for the old Master of Lake-Town, his father's enemies, despite the good and the right thing his father has done are now his father's supporters. Well, at least they appear friendly now. But the situation is still the same. Only now, his father is more exposed. The crowd milling around his father thinned and they were finally as a family, the four of them, reunited.

"Come Da," said Sigrid, let us show you a room we've got for our family," guiding him, their father and Tilda away from the balcony that oversees the Old Market, underneath them the great hall.

"It used to be the residence of the Lord of Dale of old…" Sigrid's voice trails off.

"We're not going to stay there, Sigrid. I'm not Lord of Dale. But thank you, for finding a place for us to stay the night."

Bain sees his father caressing Sigrid's head, a sign of appreciation and regret, and his recognises tiredness in his voice. It is different from tiredness of long journey or longing or frustration. His father's voice is heavy and hardly audible.

"Yes, Father. It was Olga who found it for us. She knew you would need it to rest."

"That's thoughtful of her."

"She regards you highly, Father."

The room that used to be part of the residence was probably a servants' room. There were a few beds and a cupboard of old beddings and a fireplace. It is small, easy to keep warm and away from the windows and main entrance. It is perfect for them, at this hour. Bain goes to the fireplace and wastes no time to start a fire.

He smiles to see that Tilda launches her no longer so tiny self towards her father in utter relief and joy and gratefulness.

"I'm glad you're with us, Da," Tilda says.

The flint struck a piece of an old dried wood and the fire is started. His father does not return Tilda's exuberance, instead shields himself from her. Bard the mighty Bowman does not even say a word. Tilda shrivels away from her beloved father.

"Da? What's wrong?"

At that, Bain turns his head to the scene and sees his father falls to his knees. Sigrid who sees the same scene drops the beddings to the floor.

"Bain! Something's wrong with Da!" Tilda shrieks. Bain lurches to his father and supported his upper body and eases him to the floor.

"Da! Tell me what's wrong!" Bain says. His father is conscious, but his facial expression shows that he is confused, seemingly not understanding what is happening to him.

"I don't feel well," Da says.

"Are you tired, Da?" Tilda asks.

"You're right, little pea," Da says. Then Bain hears his father whispers to him, with pale lips and waning eyes.

"Get the girls out of here."

Bain turns to Sigrid and Tilda who are in each other's arms.

"Sigrid, Hilda. Could the two of you please find Da some warm food and wine? Da's feeling faint," Bain says to her sisters.

The two nodded and they go off.

"What's the matter, Da?"

Bain sees his father steeling himself and trying to get on his feet.

"Get me on the bed. I want the girls to think I'm resting," his father orders.

With difficulty, Bain manages to walk his father to one of the beds, for Bard the Bargeman and Bard the Bowman is a tall and strong man, and he is proud to be sired by such a mighty, resilient, honourable and courageous man such as his father. Bain has never seen his father weak, and this time he has no inkling but what is he going to see. Bain props his father's head with three, age-dried pillows.

With trembling hands, his father opened the front of his worn out coat.

"Let me help you, Da," Bains says and unhooks the chain mail underneath the coat. The chain mail Is now open and Bain sees what is the cause of the problem. Right in the middle of the opening of the chain mail, underneath his father's chest there is a bloom of crimson staining his father's shirt. He can see that the red bloom of blood is coming from a stab wound the length of his forefinger.

"Da," Bain says, swallowing his own spit.

"Son?" His father answers weakly.

"You've been stabbed."

"It feels like it now," his father says, grimacing and clutching his midsection. Bain can feel his father's body shaking, because of the cold and pain.

Bain opens the layers of mail chain and layers of clothing hindering him from seeing his father's wound. When he sees it, he feels tears running down his cheeks. He brushed them away quickly and grabbed the beddings that Sigrid has dropped to the floor. He tears them to the size of a large handkerchief and pushes the material on his father's chest. Da clenches his jaw.

It makes sense. Bain has seen elves, hundreds of them, die from battle wounds. Elves, who were trained to fight as warriors, with efficiency and skills unmatched by any other creatures in Middle Earth, who should have had thousands and thousands of years to live, were wounded and they died. What chance has his father to have, with his meagre chain mail, and tiredness and nagging hunger for he gave his food to those who were more in need, against the hoard of battle-hungry orcs, uruk hais and goblins? Yet his father made it to the end of battle and made it back to them. Their father didn't abandon them, lost and unfound among the dead strewn across the Old Market and paths and roads.

Their father, despite the gaping wound in his chest, has come back to them.

"You hold on, Da. Can you do that for me? I'm going to get help," Bain pleads to his father. Da smiles weakly, his eyes almost closing.

At that moment, Tilda and Sigrid barge in, with a basket of bread and sliced roast meat and water.

"No, not your sisters," Da begs in pain.

"They have to know, because I need all the help I can get to save you," Bain explains. Da is hesitant, but he nods.

"But don't show them the blood," Da says. Bain nods. He covers his father's chest with the layers of clothing before pressing on the bedding used to staunch his wound.

"Sigrid, Tilda. Come here. Da has something to say," Bains calls his sisters calmly. The last thing he needs now is Sigrid dropping the food that their father needs or Tilda screaming again.

Sigrid put down the basket of food on a dresser and sits with her sister next to Bain, facing their ashen-faced father.

"Girls, ugh," Da tries to speak but the pain makes it hard to be coherent. Bain can't see his father struggle like that and begins.

"Da is injured in battle."

"Da!" His sisters cry.

"It's not too bad, girls," Da finally says, lying through gritted teeth. Bain can see his blood soaking through the rag.

"I want you two to help stop the bleeding and bound the wound as I find help," Bain orders his sisters.

Sigrid and Tilda nod fervently.

"Put your hand on my hand, Tilda," Bain says to Tilda. Tilda does and she was told.

"Press here," Bain continues.

"Sigrid, prepare the bindings, quickly. Once you have bound Da's wound, give Da some wine to give him strength."

"And where shall you go, Bain?"

"I will find someone with nursing skills," Bain says.

"No!"His father says, summoning all his strength to convey his fears.

"I have enemies, Bain. Once they find out I've been wounded, the people will fall apart. And those enemies will hurt you three if I'm – " Da hesitates.

"Just stay here. I will wait this one out. I will be fine in the morning," Da says. But Bain can see that is far from the truth. Da can barely speak, he is a pale as a shroud. And they do know that most Morgul blades are laced with poison.

"I will find someone you trust."

"There are not many of them."

"Trust me, Da," Bain makes his pledge and holds his father's cold hand to his chest. His father nods.

"You stay alive till I get back," Bain makes his plea before leaving.

"Can you promise me that, Da?"

"I promise, son," his father says. But Bain knows that promises are made and kept only by the living.

"I'll see you, soon, Da," Bain says and runs to the door. He knows he if doesn't put speed into his steps, he will crumble at the sight of his weakening father.

Bains goes out into the cold, wild night, alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for reading guys. I never finished reading 'The Hobbit' but I saw Bard put the Arkenstone in his shirt and that is __enough __for_ _me._

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 2**

Elven king Thranduil sits on his throne in the tent set up in the old public garden of Dale. It is night time. He sits like a stone as an elf is able to do so effortlessly. Thranduil seethes as he thinks of the need of men for sleep and rest. It irritates him to think that men, who live but a blink of years, could dare waste the little time they have on sleeping and resting. He has much need to see the sun rise so he can get Bard the Dragon Slayer, the new leader of the people of Lake-town and Dale to go on with the first order of business – seeking peaceful entrance into Erebor to claim the heirloom that belongs to his kind. As he nurses a goblet of old elvish wine, he begins to regret of not needing sleep nor rest, as a bit of reprieve from waking that could stop him from repeating the memory of his son leaving him.

And despite all the years of wisdom and knowledge, he did not have the necessary words he needed to stop Legolas from leaving. Thranduil just stood there, watching his prince; his only son turned his back and walked away.

Thranduil thinks that he is imagining things, due to the liquor he is consuming when he sees a very young Legolas walking towards him.

"Son?" He calls out.

"King Thranduil? Your Majesty?"

As the form gets closer, Thranduil sees that it is not Legolas, younger or older, past or present. It is the young son of Bard the Dragon Slayer.

"What brings you here, son of the Dragon Slayer?"

The young human rushed to the middle of the tent and Thranduil sees fear in the boy's eyes even before he speaks. It is the fear familiar in his memory, when ages ago, his own son looked him in his eyes and asked him_, will you not tell me where is my mother?_

"My father – he is hurt, very badly."

Thranduil gets up from his throne, and with strides urgent but never hurried, walks towards the Dragon Slayer's son. He touches the boy's back gently.

"Take me to him."

Thranduil does not know what he will see, but he knows enough to gather the conclusion that Bard the Dragon Slayer, or at least his son, does not trust their kind enough to have a look at his injuries. It also seems that the Dragon Slayer knows that he still has enough leverage to make Thranduil, the mighty and immortal Elven King subject to a mere mortal's biddings. Such is the cunning of human in their fear of their short life. Or is Bard's injuries too grievous for human medicine? Thranduil still does not know.

The Dragon Slayer's son is running towards their newly taken up residence, but Thranduil merely glides and yet is never farther than two steps behind the boy.

"Put pressure on the rag, Tilda," Sigrid orders. She is almost done with tearing the beddings into bindings, as well as another piece of rag the size of a handkerchief. She sees that the rag being pushed by Hilda to Da's lower chest is almost completely wet with red. She folded the large into a palm-sized square and quickly pushed away Tilda's hand, replacing the useless first rag. Tilda, the wee girl, is surprisingly calm when she put aside the now unused rag.

"Good, Tilda. You're a brave girl," Sigrid encourages her sister.

"Now hold this," Sigrid gestures with her chin to their father, who is clenching his jaw all the while, keeping his eyes open, trying to smile at them with his eyes.

Sigrid holds out the bindings at arms' length, ready to bind his father's wound.

"Da," Sigrid calls to her father. Her father looks at her with smiling eyes, yet a face ridden by pain.

"I'm going to bind your wound. I need to move you, Da. It will hurt just a little bit."

Her Da nodded. Sigrid has helped her father with injuries before, most of them caused by frostbite or small accidents with fishing tools, but never this bad or an injury of this kind. She fears that binding is not enough. Who knows how long has the wound been on her father? She wonders what kind of headiness has possessed her father that he does not feel the wound till he is safe in their new found lodging? Was her father's mind so far removed from his body that he didn't feel the blade the moment it penetrated his flesh? What was he thinking? What was Da thinking about till he couldn't feel pain?

Sigrid slid the binding under her father's back. Da tried his best to move so she gets the end of the binding to other side and up and under again. But after the third cycle, the movement has taken enough from Da. Da's tired eyes started to flutter.

"Da!" Tilda cries her plea.

"Little pea, I'm sleepy," Da says tiredly.

"No, Da. You can't sleep yet," Tilda begs.

"Sing me that song, the song about 'The House Tree'," Da asks.

Tilda looks at Sigrid. Sigrid was tying a knot on Da's chest, finishing her binding job. Sigrid nods. Tilda begins with a gentle hum, almost like she is whispering but then the hum gets louder, just loud enough for her father to hear.

_My mother died when I was a baby wee_

_My father buried her under a tree_

_And the tree grew so big that we_

_Built a house in it and live in the house tree_

From the second line, Tilda has become confident enough to sing it louder. It is beautiful and sad at the same time. At the last line, Da breathed a heavy sigh and his head just lolled to his left. His eyes are closed, as if he is fast asleep.

"Da!" Tilda yelled and hangs fiercely to Da's torso. She is crying. Sigrid hangs on Tilda's shoulders. She is crying too.

"Give me some space, children," a solemn voice booms from behind. Sigrid turns and sees the Elven King, the one her father has had counsel with a few days before the battle for Erebor. Bain has returned! With the elf king, no less.

"Girls! Let King Thranduil help Da!" Bain half yelled at them to shake them out of their confusion. Sigrid pulls her sister away from their father's side.

The tall, slender elf kneels next to Da. He tilts back Da's head and parts Da's mouth open. King Thranduil puts his mouth over Da's mouth as he blows a part of his life into Da. At that moment, another elf, the king's assistant of some sort, chants an elvish spell. King Thranduil seems to glow. The rooms grows warm with brown light of the unseen sun. Then, with his slender palms, King Thranduil pushes at Da's chest, a little bit to the left, as if coaxing Da's heart to beat again. The king's assistant never stops chanting the elvish spell. It is elvish healing Sigrid has never seen before, even after she has seen how the she-elf healed the dwarf, but she understands what King Thranduil is trying to do. He is trying to get air into Da's lungs and his heart to pump lifeblood into his veins again. And this happens a few times, until at a count that Sigrid has lost, Da's chest heaves and he sputters with coughs.

At that sight, Sigrid and Tilda cry softly in each other's arms. Bain sinks to his knees, spent and relieved. Sigrid sees a tweak at the corner of the elf king's lips.

"If you can help it, please do not die before I get my jewels from the dwarfs," the elf says, his face now back to it stoic iciness.

"Or before all your children have grown," the elf king continues.

"They have suffered enough, losing their mother."

Da blinks weakly, a look of shock and gratefulness evident on his face.

King Thranduil holds out a hand and he is given a bottle of potion, which he then administers to Da, with a small spoon-like apparatus, so Da can swallow it little by little without sputtering.

"That will clean his blood of the poison," the elf king announces.

"But his insides will need time to heal and be pieced together again. Do not move your father till he is completely healed," he says to Sigrid.

"Feed him cautiously."

Sigrid bows her head to King Thranduil. Tilda and Bain follow suit.

"Get well soon, Dragon Slayer. We have much to do," King Thranduil says and takes his leave, now an angel in the eyes of Sigrid and all of Bard's children.

Sigrid sleeps on a bed pushed near her Da's. She holds his arm, giving him warmth. Tilda sleeps on his other side, with her hand on his heart, to make sure it is beating.

Bain keeps first watch, taking care of the fire.


	3. Chapter 3

_Keep reading you guys. Thanks for staying with me. More Bardwhump! coming your way with the entrance of Alfrid Lickspittle._

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 3**

"What is my job description?" A large man says to another, who is at least two heads shorter than him.

"Scuttle behind me, hold a large stick and beat anyone who dares to stand up to me," the shorter man, Alfrid Lickspittle says as he throws a silver coin into the air. The man catches it and bites it with to test its authenticity.

"There's more of that if you prove yourself to be loyal and dependable. Soon, people beyond Lake-town will converge here, the dwarfs will need food and clothing, and the elves will want metal and jewellery. Trade is going boom. And all you need is those precious coins to buy yourself things and finally be someone," Alfrid gives the closest he has to a motivational speech. The man nods, convinced.

_It is a wonder what a silver coin can do, even in this economy!_ Alfrid Lickspittle thinks as he pays another Lake-towner as his entourage. He has hidden the jarful of coins made of gold and silver in a secret place, and he carries a handful of them just to make sure he has himself set up before he can get to his first order of business – buying enough people to scare the rest of the villagers into submission.

Despite being the richest man in Dale and Lake-town combined, a nagging feeling still tugs at his liver.

With that amount of gold and silver, he has a head start of a hundred miles compared to the rest of the sorry lot that used to be the people of Lake-town. With the promise of a booming trade in just a few days, he will be able to buy anything and anyone and thus adding more chance of generating riches for his coffer. He has already paid two men as guards of a nice merchant's quarters near the Old Market. He was planning to take quarters above the Great Hall but word has it, some fools have booked the place for Bard the Bargeman and his sorry family.

Hmmph, Alfrid gritted his teeth. Loyalty can be bought, given time and given the right fault to the right people.

He knows what kind of man Bard is. Honest, hardworking and unfettered by compliments. And that is the kind of man he hates the most. The old Master of Lake-town was an easy task for him to handle. Sure, he had to grovel for extra coins here and there, but he had the old Master wrapped around his fingers.

Bard, on the other hand, is a really troublesome character. If he were the man himself, he would have been glad that someone would nominate him the leader of the people. But this Bard character just put aside that adulation, thought the phoniness of the adulation is actually to be expected of his job, and goes on with organizing the people to prepare for winter and war, without a committee (an entourage, for Alfrid), solely relying on the goodness of people's hearts and their innate desire for survival.

Who does that, really? Alfrid asks himself, totally disgusted.

When he has ordered his men to take advantage of the remaining buffet cart provided by the elves and bring the food to him, Alfrid sets out on his first order of business.

He goes from door to door, with a pen and parchment in hand.

"In what manner do you confirm your ownership of this residence?" Alfrid asks the woman with four children under her arms.

"I came here first," she shouts at Alfrid.

"Well, you have to register this unit and pay an amount of tax so this unit can be legally yours," Alfrid says.

"What?"

Alfrid eyes the thin necklace made of silver on the woman's neck and breaks into a toothy grin.

"That trinket on your neck is suffice."

"This is no trinket. It was my grandma's, handed down to me. It's an heirloom," the woman yells.

"Heirloom, schmerloom. Then you're taking up illegal residence as you're not registered," Alfrid says and turns to leave.

"What does Bard the Dragon Slayer say about this?" The woman calls out. The noise is making the neighbours congregate.

"Yeah? I wonder if he knows that you're out doing this?" An elderly man asks.

"Of course, he knows. It is the only way to maintain order," Alfrid says hesitantly but he does his best to represent.

"By paying tax? I don't think so. This is not Bard's way. He would not condone this kind of behaviour."

"Behaviour? What kind of behaviour?"

"Taking men with you. Threatening women and children and the elderly to pay for something that isn't yours!" The old man says and gets encouragement from the neighbours. Alfrid feels safe still because he has four men holding large sticks around him.

"You have much good things to say about Bard the Bargeman, but do you know that he has taken the best quarters above the Great Hall as his residence? Do you know that he has INDOOR PLUMBING there? While you have to go to the outhouse to do your business?" Alfrid says in return. A few of the people nodded to each other and whisper like snakes. Some shake their heads and utter words of disbelieve.

"That's because he's our leader!" Someone says from the back.

"A leader you say? There is no leader here. He is just a man who asks you to find firewood. He is just a man who asks you to sacrifice your men to die for the elves."

"He tells us what to do when we're all losing our heads!"

"That doesn't make him a leader because there hasn't been an ELECTION yet! Bard is nothing if he is not elected as leader."

"An election?" A few of the people ask in confusion.

"It is a process of choosing a leader," Alfrid explains, making things up as he goes along.

"We've never done that."

"Of course not. A man, only a man, has to be nominated by at least…" Alfrid counts his gold in his head.

"… fifty other men before he can stand to be voted by the people."

"Why are only men can be chosen as leader?" A woman's voice pipes out.

"Because it has always been like that," Alfrid answers irritatedly.

"We want to see Bard. We want to know what he thinks. He needs to speak!"

The crowd become mad with agreement. Alfrid realizes that the people want to know what Bard thinks. That is going to hurt his election campaign.

"Yes, yes. I will bring this issue to Bard."

"Where is he?"

"Good question. While I'm here, asking about your home, er your welfare, where is Bard? Of course, enjoying his wonderful quarters in the Great Hall while all of you suffered the loss of husbands and fathers and wives and children in the battle," Alfrid pauses for effect. The crowd has quite down.

"Good for all of us that Bard the Dragon Slayer has all his family members alive, safe in their new, premium residence."

The people look to one another, such signalling to Alfrid that their loyalty to Bard is swayed, if only slightly.

"I will take your plight to him," Alfrid says and leaves with his men.

"Where is Bard? Let's find out. It's not in his nature to stay in this late," Alfrid fumes to himself and heads toward the Great Hall.

Sigrid wakes up to find Bain asleep on a tapestry in front of the fire. The flame is small and Sigrid searches for things to feed it. She found dolls made of wood that Tilda would love but she knows Da needs the warmth of the fire than Tilda of dolls. The fire grows alive again. Sigrid checks on her father. His face is sweating, his flesh is burning with fever. Sigrid wipes the sweat of her Da's face. She remembers the nights he stayed up taking care of her siblings when they were sick. No matter how tired Da was, caused by his back-breaking work, he never failed to take care of them.

Da moans softly in his sleep. He is disturbed by some feverish dream. Sigrid touches her Da's cheek and says softly to him.

"Shh, Da. Go back to sleep. Let us take care of you this time, as you have taken care of us all those years. Shh…"

Sigrid then hums the song _of The House Tree_, in a slower tempo, like a breeze passing through the crevasses of the mountains. She cries and laments with the melody, her voice keening with hope.

First light appears as Da seems more peaceful. Sigrid watches his chest rise and fall and his breathing grows more steady. The sun rises shyly for it is the onset of winter and Bain wakes.

"How's Da?" Bain asks, rubbing his eyes.

"He's better."

"Has he woken yet?"

"No. Not yet," Sigrid looks at his brother worriedly.

"Let me get some food," Bain says, getting up.

"No. You stayed up late last night. Let me go out and go to Olga if she has some soup or what not. You keep watch," Sigrid says, wrapping a shawl around her and shoulders.

"Thanks," Bain says as he stretches himself into the bed she is leaving.

"Oh, don't tell a soul. Da doesn't trust anyone," Bain warns her.

"But the elves?"

"The elves only has loyalty to their king. And the king needs Da for something important. People of Lake-town have always been divided, as humans always are."

Sigrid nods. She takes the now empty elvish basket and exits their quarters, closing the door behind her. The world is waking up and she can see that the townspeople are starting over. She sees people are already foraging for firewood and smoke is coming from the kitchens. People are making a beeline for something that Sigrid guesses are the carts from the elves of Mirkwood.

She is proud of her Da. If it wasn't for him, the elves would not have cared. It is because of him that the town is being fed by the elves. She feels her spirit soars every time she sees in her mind, the image of his father riding side by side the regal elven king. The Elven king was dressed in silver and gold and silk of heavenly craft. Her father was clothed only in a raggedy coat he had since Tilda was born, but her father is royal as any royalty can be. A king in a tattered coat, tall as a tree, strong as a pillar of stone.

"Good morning, can you please tell me where is Olga?" Sigrid asks a lady on her way back from the old garden, her basket filled with venison and milk.

"She's near the Great Hall, in the building next to it," the woman says.

Sigrid thanks her and turns to the direction of the Great Hall. She stops on her track when she is addressed by a familiar voice.

"Daughter of the Dragon Slayer, good morrow!"

Sigrid's eyes turn into slits looking at Alfrid. Alfrid used to be alone, trailing his father. But now he has men following him.

"May I know where is your father? Why hasn't he been out yet? He should be managing the city by now."

Sigrid remembers Bain's warning about not trusting people. But she knows in all certainty not to trust Alfrid Lickspittle.

"My father is out since early in the morning, on an important business with the elves."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Now if you let me go on about my business."

Sigrid says and turns. She slips into the building said by the woman she met and asks for Olga.

"Can I have a little bit of soup, mam?" Sigrid asks Olga when she appears at the door.

"Oh girl. I have barely enough for my grandchildren. You should get your own and cook for your Da and siblings," Olga says.

"Please Olga. My Da is very sick," Sigrid says hesitantly.

"Oh my. Do you need me to go over there?"

"No, thanks. But a little soup is enough. Just to get his strength back."

"Alright. I'm sorry. That's terrible of me. After all he has done for Lake-town, I should be able to spare him some," Olga says and disappears from the door. She reappears with a ladle of hot soup, mushroom apparently, and pours the content of ladle into an empty bowl that used to hold an elvish bread.

"Thank you," Sigrid says and left, as quickly as a cat being chased away.

So quick that she doesn't realize that Alfrid Lickspittle is hiding in a nook near Olga's house, listening to every bit of the conversation. Alfrid laughs. So, Bard the mighty Dragon slayer has a weakness. As lazy as a sloth once victory is achieved, now sleeping like a king in his quarters.

Now is his time to strike.


	4. Chapter 4

_Merry Christmas everyone! Santa's here bringing all the Bard!whump that you need. And a little of caring! 't you think that Bard and his children deserve a merry Yule? Merry Christmas!_

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 4**

Tilda is already awake when her father stirs.

"Darling?" Da's hoarse voice summons Tilda back to her father. She can't help herself and drapes herself on her Da's chest. Da gasps in pain but does not push her away. Tilda extricates herself from her father.

"I'm sorry, Da," Tilda says meekly.

"No, sweet pea," Da says, trying to prop himself up on the hard pillows.

Bain helps him up. There is a look on Bain's face as if a burden of large rocks are lifted from his shoulders.

"How are you feeling, Da?"

"Much better, considering. What happened? I can't remember anything-" Da says, his effort to push himself up wasted.

"We almost lost you, Da. But the Elf King came and he did something. He revived you," Bain explains. Da sighs in regret. He holds out his hand and touches Tilda's head.

"I'm sorry I frightened you."

Tilda begins to cry.

"I promise not to ever do that again."

Bain doesn't say anything. He purses his lips and nods. Tilda knows that Bain is still worried. Da is better, but the following cold days will be difficult for Da. Tilda realizes that one day, they have to fend for themselves. Even the elves die. Their father cannot live forever. That realization strikes her like a large snowball.

The sound of knocking comes from the door. Bain goes to it and put his ears to the door.

"It's Sigrid," he announces and opens the door. Sigrid rushes inside, receiving a bright smile from Tilda. Bains locks the door. Sigrid kneels near Da. She holds her father's hand.

"Da. You're awake," she says and she can't help it that she has tears in her eyes.

"Your hand is cold, angel," Da says.

"Here, have some of this," Sigrid says and spoons a warm soup to her father's lips.

"No, you girls have breakfast first," Da says.

"You have to get back your strength," Sigrid insists.

"No."

"Please, Da."

Da relents and let Sigrid feeds him.

"Your mother used to do that for me, when I was sick," Da begins. Sigrid smiles at that. But the fact is, Tilda notices that Da is more sad than happy to tell them that.

"She –"

Da's reminiscing is interrupted by a rude knocking on the door. Bain gets close to the door.

"Rise and shine, King of Dale and the new master of Lake-town!"

"It's Mr. Lickspittle!" Bain warns.

"What a lovely accommodation you have here. Warm fireplace, running water…"

"What does he want?" Bain asks irritatedly.

"He might have seen me running back here. He followed me home! Oh!"Sigrid whispers.

"It's not your fault. Alfrid can't help that he is troublesome. I'll take care of this," Da says and musters all his strength to sit on the bed.

"What will you do?"

"I'll speak to him and ask him to go away, at least for a while."

"But you can barely sit, let alone stand and reason with Mr. Lickspittle," Sigrid argues.

"That's why I need your help," Da says. He is already seated on the edge of the bed. His right hand is clutching his bandaged injury, as if he is testing if his insides will fall out.

"Bain, help me stand," Da orders his first born. Bain rushes and holds his father at his ribs. With great difficulty, Da is on his feet.

"I will lean on you. You must bear my weight," Da says and slowly, they both walk to the door. Sigrid unlocks the door.

Alfrid Lickspittle is waiting for Da. Sigrid slips to her father's left, and Tilda steps in front of them. If they could see the look on their father's face at that moment, it was of pride impossible to be put into words.

"Good morning, Alfrid. What is it that you want?" Their father addresses Alfrid. Tilda grows angry to see that the puny little man has five men with him and they are strangely armed with makeshift weapons.

"My Lord, don't you think that you should be up and about by now? Unlike yourself, the people's residence is in dire need of repairing and there's a riot brewing as they are people taking up illegal residence," Alfrid Lickspittle says, his hunched body now straighter, taller. And he doesn't bother gesturing as much as he used to do.

"A riot? Over illegal residence?" Da asks, concern overwhelming his own physical pain.

"And there are this issues about bodies of the dead, of course. Of our people who have died in battle."

Da lets go of his hold on Bain. TIlda knows Da is trying to be strong for the people who have, inexplicably put their trust in Da since the people became scattered and were upon the shore of Dale. Tilda put her arm around Da's waist. She can feel her father's slow breath, as if he is extremely winded.

"We're going to bury them. We need a leader to organize a team taking care of the burial," Da says, taking every ounce of energy he has.

"But you're their leader," Alfrid says.

Da stops, a look of exasperation in his tired eyes.

"In fact, the people are questioning. While they lost their family in the battle, they find it hard to believe that everyone in your family survived it," Alfrid continues.

"Wonderfully, without a scratch on their bodies," the now tall hunched man presses on. Tilda feels Da heaves a heavy sigh.

"Da?" Sigrid calls out. Tilda turns to her father, letting go of his waist. Da's eyes rolls up and he just falls to his knees. In futility, Bain tries to keep his father upright.

"Da? What am I supposed to do?" Bain whispers to Da. Da doesn't answer, instead he coughs out blood, a thin sliver flowing from the corner of his mouth, which Da promptly wipes off.

"I can't let them see - I'm sorry, Bain. I'm so sorry. I thought I could do it," Da says weakly and ends up leaning on his shoulder, kneeling on the floor.

Seeing this, Alfrid steps back, genuinely surprised. Tilda can't hold it any longer.

"My father is hurt in battle!" Tilda yells to Alfrid and the people who have followed the petty marauders into the King's servants' quarters. She thinks that she could have incited some sympathy in the marauders' heart (if they have any) but Alfrid incites some more doubt.

"Is this an act? A badly written play?"

Tilda reaches out to his father's coat and chain mail and shirt and pulled all the layered materials to reveal blood-soaked bandaging covering his father's chest.

"Tilda…" Da whispers to Tilda, wanting her to stop probably, but Tilda goes on.

"He nearly died!" Tilda yells to the men in front of her. Seeing that much blood, Alfrid and his men step back.

"Will you not help him?" Tilda begs.

"Will you not help my Da? He is dying."

The crowd gasp. There is an empty vacuum filled only by silence that follows Tilda's plea.

"No child should beg for her father's life from ingrates," a voice booms from behind the crowd. The crowd part like a sea at the bidding of the proverbial prophet, making way for a light that surrounds a tall man with a crown of silver on his head.

The Elven king has come again, this time with a cohort of servant elves, with supplies and clothing and provisions.

"The Dragon Slayer almost lost his life in battle. And he owes you lot nothing. Though he is my equal, he has more goodwill in his short life to spare than I have to give in all the millenias I shall live. He reminds me of the good that men can achieve. It is pitiful that the way you treat him will remind me of how men will only destroy his own kind, in time."

The crowd watches the Elven king in awe. Their faces show that the words of the Elven king have struck a chord in their hearts. Their leader is dying. And unknowingly, they were about to launch an attack to his injured body and his crying children.

Then, as he would do to an injured bird, the Elven King picks up the Dragon Slayer's body from the supporting arms of his son. Effortlessly, as if the tall and broad form of Bard the Dragon Slayer is nothing but a sleeping child to him, King Thranduil holds the man's body, with his injury for all to see.

"The elven kind owes this man their place in Middle Earth. You owe him your very soul. No harm shall come to him and his family, or you shall suffer the wrath of the elves."

"It is a day till the eve of Yule. Let there be peace in your hearts."

With that, the Elven king turns, with the Dragon Slayer's helpless form cradled against his chest, and disappears into the quarters.

A small battalion of elf foot soldiers barricaded the door with their bodies and arms, sending Alfrid and his men and the crowd back to where they came from.


	5. Chapter 5

_Wow! What a blast of a Christmas. But now I got some time and the story continues. I love Peter Jackson and his works but BOTFA ended too abruptly. I need to see how they handle the aftermath of battle. _

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 5**

Alfrid seethes inside. The townspeople have fallen into place. People organize themselves without the Bargeman's direct leadership. They are now led by their common sense and the instinct for survival. From his terrace above the market, Alfrid sees groups of people moving and burying the dead. There is a bunch of them giving away hot soup. The Great Hall has become some kind of a hospice, where the injured are treated.

The elves have become the surrogate of the people. Their resources aplenty, their strength unmatched and their patience limitless, Alfrid sees that the people would get on their feet quicker with the assistance of the elves.

It hurts Alfrid in his spleen that the generosity of the elves is owed to Bard. The elven king has confirmed that, in front of a large crowd. When Alfrid replays the scene that is supposed to be his stepping stone to power and supremacy, and had that stupidly thwarted, his insides twist bitterly. He has planned a coup d'état upon an unelected leader (is that ever possible?) but the opposite happened!

Now, the people have seen how Bard almost lost his life in battle, in critical condition, bleeding from his belly. Then, the elven king just made it even more preposterous. Such proclamation, such admiration, Alfrid scrunches his face in irritation.

His carefully-laid plan has been turned to a stage that turns Bard the Bargeman into a martyr-like figure.

And the one thing that Alfrid hates more than a martyr is a martyr who is still alive, simply because martyrs are NOT supposed to live.

The world comes to him in grey and black. Bard feels as if his body is made of lead. The point where the blade has struck him throbs like a bad sore. But he has coherent thought.

"Tilda," he calls, pushing himself up.

"Is that your wife's name?" A deep, melodious voice greets Bard's consciousness.

"She's named after her," Bard explains.

"A wonderful gesture."

As his vision gains its clarity, Bard sees that Thranduil the Elven King is seated on a reclining chair made of ivory next to him.

"The little one is asleep," Thranduil gestures to the sleeping form of a small girl on a bed at the corner of the room.

"The womanly daughter is down in the Great Hall, tending to the injured."

"Sigrid," Bard sighs his eldest daughter's name.

"And the heir apparent -"

"Bain. But I'm no king to begin with."

"- is outside with the townspeople, burying the dead. Nevertheless The people look to you."

Bard leans back on his bed, closing his eyes, in regret of the pain he has caused his children. Then he realized that he is shod in new clothes, a white robe of exquisite softness and warmth, unlike his soiled and torn shirt and coat. There is none of his own clothing on him and Bard begins to panic. Thranduil senses his anxiety and laughs.

"When was the last time someone sees you disrobed, Dragon Slayer?"

"What?"

"I know you heard me the first time," Thranduil says. Bard smiles. They are both grown men, or elf or otherwise.

"It's been a while," Bard responds with pursed lips, trying to put it mildly.

"As do I," Thranduil says with a faraway look in his eyes.

"For an elf, a while means what? Two thousand years?"

"Therefore, consider yourself fortunate."

"Wait!" Bard begins groping his trousers. Thranduil arches an eyebrow.

"Are you looking for this?"

Thranduil holds out a translucent stone in his hand, from its inner centre sparkling with colourful light that seems to have its own life.

"It belongs to the dwarves. Do you plan to take it?"

"I've been thinking about doing just that, given the latest news."

"What has happened? How long was I out?"

"A whole one day and then more. Thorin is dead. And so are his nephews."

Bard lets the news sink in. He has never found reasons to hate Thorin and his company as dwarves. Bard thinks they are as obstinate, hot-tempered, generous, wise and kind as any man could be. He knows the pain of being a displaced people, as what happened to his line after Girion failed to kill Smaug the dragon, and that kind of anger could change anyone, for better or for worse.

"Then, the Arkenstone belongs to Thorin, even in death."

"Will you not use it to parley for your share of the dwarves' gold, Dragon Slayer?"

"What is there left to parley? We have survived without gold before and we will do again without."

"But the elven kind want their heirloom back. I want them back," Thranduil says.

"Then let me talk to them. Hopefully, it doesn't go as badly as it did."

"Hmph," Thranduil smirks. Bard gave a weak smile.

"Take me to Erebor."

"Can you walk?"

"I can walk."

"Let me carry your little daughter," Thranduil offers. Somehow, Bard can see ages and ages hence, Thranduil has done the same to another little girl, her hair like a flame and long like flowing water because Thranduil looks so adept at it.

Thranduil will not spare the fanfare. They ride to Erebor with a hundred elven foot soldiers. Bard sits next to the Elven king in a open carriage pulled by four horses. The children sit behind them.

"One day, your children will rule in your stead and history must be passed on by witnessing, so they will remember," Thranduil says, just loud enough for Bain, Sigrid and Tilda to hear. Bard looks to his eldest and finds his son's eyes looking into his. Bain nods, signalling everything will be alright, that this little trip to Erebor will not hurt.

"I'm proud of what you and your sister did today," Bard says, putting his hand on Bain's shoulder.

"We're glad you're alright, Da."

"Thanks to what you both did."

Unlike the talk he had with Thorin not five days ago, before all the carnage and death and suffering, their entourage is greeted by Balin, the one Bard recognises as the wisest and the most reasonable.

"I'm sorry about Thorin and his nephews," Bard manages to utter. Balin just nods in tears and ushered them to a clearing to the east of Erebor's main gate. There are hundreds of fallen dwarves, lying in state, still in their battle armour and blood on their bodies.

Bard finds himself standing in front of Thorin, replete in his armour and battle gear, in an iron sarcophagus. The prince's face is clean and peaceful, albeit their large wound on his torso. Kili, the dark-haired nephew suffered a wound that looks identical to Thorin's. Fili, the light-haired one, suffered worse, his body broken and his torso stabbed.

Thranduil hands the Arkenstone to Bard.

"Prince, I return to you the Arkenstone," Bard announces and holds up the stone. He kneels and puts the stone into Thorin's cold hand.

"Do you want the elven weapon returned to you, Your Majesty King Thranduil?" Balin asks the Elven King,referring to the elven-made sword, the Orcrist which rests on Thorin's still chest.

"Let it be buried with him. For Thorin son of Thror deserves its company when he stands before the Valar," says Thranduil.

"So be it," Balin says and the burial begins.

It takes a while. And the elves sing a melody that sounds like wind passing through a field of little white flowers.

"Will you honour Thorin's word to the people of Lake-Town and the elves of Mirkwood, O Balin the most wise," Bard says to Balin after the burial is completed.

"Thorin would have wanted that. Yes," Balin says and welcomes the party into the gates or Erebor.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys! Sorry for the hiatus. I was travelling and couldn't use the desktop. I basically finished the whole thing on paper and the chapters are now awaiting release. So, let's get on with our Bard fix._

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 6**

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" Alfrid yells, making his way to the front of the crowd at the entrance of the old Treasury. There, he comes under the stern gaze of the elf king Thranduil, who looks as him as if looking at a pesky cockroach.

"What is it, Alfrid?" Bard asks tiredly. Alfrid can see that the elves have ferried the Bargeman and his family back to Dale. There are chests and chests and of gold in a carriage behind them, heavily guarded by elven foot soldiers.

"Sire, you have returned. I see you need help with the treasures of Erebor," Alfrid says with a smile.

"In time, Alfrid. In time," Bard says as the elf soldiers carry the treasure chests into the treasury. Upon finishing, two are stationed at the door.

"I have the manpower to guard the treasury, if you want to utilise them," Alfrid offers.

"I will call the people to council for the distribution of the gold. Till then, the elves will lend their help."

"I see."

"Good night, Alfrid," Bard turns away, with the condescending elf king by his side, leaving Alfrid fuming. Seeing that the treasury is already well-guarded, Alfrid realizes painfully that his plan to put his men in the treasury has backfired.

King Thranduil's carriage stops on the stone floor lawn in front of the treasury. Bard and his children take that as a sign that they should get off. But Thranduil speaks before Bard alights.

"I wish to thank you for your patience with the dwarves. As a result, you have assisted the elven kind in getting back our heirloom."

"For someone who has all the years ahead of him, you don't have much patience," Bard muses.

"I can see that you have regained your good nature. You were half dead not two days ago."

"I'm fragile," Bard plays on. Thranduil gives that sideway smile that never fails to baffle him. Bard never knows if Thranduil is annoyed or amused.

"It is time for my kind and I to leave Dale and return to Mirkwood. The soldiers I put at your door are at your disposal."

"Well, thank you, your Majesty. For saving my life, for helping my family and for the generosity you have shown to the people of Dale."

"People of Dale," Thranduil muses.

"Yes. We're going to rebuild this city."

"Be careful of your enemies, as well as people who claim that they are your friends."

"Thank you for the reminder."

"Farewell, King of Dale."

Bard slightly blushes at the title, as he is embarrassed by it but is able to condone it because it comes from a king already enthroned ages ago. That has to count for something, Bard thinks, finally giving himself some credit.

"Farewell, friend."

"Hah," Thranduil sighs. Thranduil extends a hand to him, and to Thranduil's surprise, Bard just pulls the man elf into a tight embrace, slapping him on his back. Thranduil is taken aback, but remembers the familiarity of such gesture and understands that Bard doesn't mean to offend him. Thranduil returns the affection with a benign smile.

"Visit anytime."

"If the need arise."

Thus, ends King Thranduil's brief sojourn in the company of men.

"Will he be back, Da?" Sigrid asks.

"I don't know. We are but a blink of the eyes in the life of the elves. I didn't expect them to give us much attention."

"But he saved your life."

"Hopefully, King Thranduil has considered that debt is repaid," Bard says and walks his children to their quarters.

All night, the family discuss the way that the gold should be managed. Bain suggests that each member of the community should be given a certain amount, including for each child under each adult's care. That way, the members of the community can be registered as well. The gold can be used by each family to start an industry, just so for they can get back on their feet. Soon, when their father has fully recovered, he can start organising people to repair and rebuild Dale and therefore is able to pay the townspeople for their labour. Sigrid imagines that when the city is ready to accommodate more people, the infrastructure improved and working, people will start coming to Dale, using it as a trading point between the dwarves, the elves and the surrounding area. Dale will regain its former glory. Tilda imagines that there will be shops and sweets. Bard smiles as he listens to his children talk in their soft but excited voices, weaving dreams.

"Are you sleepy, Da?" Tilda asks.

"Yes. But I want to fall asleep listening to your voices."

"I'll take care of the fire, Da. You go on and get some rest," Bain offers.

"I'll tuck Tilda in," Sigrid says.

"Tell her one of your stories," Bard makes a request. Sigrid smiles and begins. He listens to it, about a little girl who gets lost in the woods and encounters creatures of another realm and they are ALL actually lost and … Bard falls asleep to sound of his children's voices.

Bard's successful return from Erebor with the dwarves' gold just turns everything that he has planned on its head. When he stumbled upon the jar of gold and silver coins during the heat of battle (which he has cleverly and successfully evaded), Alfrid thought that his troubles were over. Alfrid thought he is officially the richest man in Dale.

But now, with all the gold coming from Erebor, and being the one who made it happen the Bargeman has become the richest man in Dale. Of course, Bard's good heart and his utter disregard for riches and title will slow his ascend to power, but the elf soldiers and the trust of the people make Bard the most influential man in Dale right now. And nothing annoys Alfrid more than an influential man that he can't influence. He just wishes that he can get close to the Bargeman, close enough to do what he has to do.

"Drat," Alfrid curses.

His mutterings and cursing are halted by one his hired men coming to the door.

"Master Alfrid," the man says, his breathing heavy caused by the burden he is carrying on his back. It is a sack of things made of metal.

"Awful thing that is, scouring for orc blades," the man complains.

"Not to mention that they make really stinking corpses."

The man spreads the contents of the sack. Machetes and swords of all shapes and sizes are in front of him.

"Too big, too long, too heavy," Alfrid says, half-assessing, half-complaining. Until he comes upon a peculiar-looking blade the length of a man's palm. It is still in its sheath. Alfrid unsheathes the blade and discovers the strangeness of the metal-work. The orc weapon has a blackish wavy blade, crudely made but it as sharp as any weapon can be. Alfrid relishes its ugliness.

"There are some pretty-looking elvish weapons too," the man says.

"Elvish, schmelvish. This one's got character," Alfrid says and throws a silver coin into the man's open palm.

"What are you going to do with that kind of weapon, Master Alfrid? We're starting up a civil society in Dale, aren't we?" He asks.

"Of course, we are. But every man needs protection."

"A small blade like that? What kind of protection can it give?"

"When you get close enough, a small blade will do," Alfrid says, absent-mindedly, as he himself is bewildered by the extent of his speculative imagination.

"A small blade will do."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks to my loyal readers. This is for you. The little asterisks are to show chapter break._

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 7**

The night is quiet, perhaps too quiet. It is understandable after all the fanfare of the day. But the silence between the two elven soldiers at the gate of the treasury cuts like an orc blade.

"You don't have to do this, Tauriel. Shouldn't you be mourning your fallen dwarf-friend?" the taller of the two elves guarding starts the conversation. He pushes back his hood and reveals silvery and golden hair and piercing eyes.

"He would want me to do this – helping the people who have helped him," the elf named Tauriel replies, not letting down the hood that is covering her head.

"And you would rather be with me, the one your heart doesn't belong to than be at his tomb?"

With those words, Tauriel lets down her hood, letting the taller male elf watch her face in all its earnestness.

"My Lord, Prince Legolas! There is no way in a million years that we can be together. If I knew otherwise, I would have opened my heart for that possibility and perhaps everything turns out differently. Your destiny has been determined. You shall be wedded to an elf princess of Rivendell or Lothlorien or Noldor. I would have caused great distress to King Thranduil if I have pursued your affection."

"So you'd rather give your heart to a dwarf?" Legolas asks even more urgently, his eyes bearing great pain.

"Yes," Tauriel answers him, never taking her tearful gaze from his face.

"I could defy my father! I have defied my father for you," Legolas steps back.

"At what cost, my Lord? Kings' pride spurned. Two kingdoms forever in distrust. And we shall live long enough to see everything falls as a consequence of our actions."

"But he died. Your dwarf warrior died."

"He would die in all versions of our lives. If I and the dwarf were to be united, I would outlive him by millenias. I would suffer heartbreak still. That's why I chose him. This heartbreak, this pain, is the course of my life with him, with you even. That is why I don't fight my destiny," Tauriel answers in resignation, her eyes staring at the ground. Legolas sees that she has accepted everything that has happened as her destiny.

"But will you still be my Captain?" Prince Legolas asks.

"As long as you wish it. And as long as your father wishes it. I owe King Thranduil that much."

The night marches on, its air sweet and cold. Legolas and his captain Tauriel keep watch, their minds awake with memories and thoughts swirling with the snow.

*Bard awakes in the middle of the night. He feels so much better. The children are asleep and he feels a sense of peace. He throws logs into the fire and tinker with the remaining elvish food on the table, left by his children.

"Sire?" Bard hears a voice calling him. It sounds like Alfrid. Bard takes a club lying next to Bain, something that Bain must have picked up or fashion out of desperation as he, his father fell injured and turned sick. Bard can't even imagine the kind of fear that was in his son's heart.

"It's Alfrid. I know you're awake, Sire."

Bard opens the door and locks it behind him. He stands in front of Alfrid with the club in his hands. Strangely, Alfrid is without his men and he has a bottle in his hand and some roast meat in a basket.

"What do you want, Alfrid?" Bard asks, the accusation and attack on his quarters three days ago still fresh in his mind.

"I bring you a peace offering."

"Thanks but no thanks, Alfrid," Bard says and turns his back on Alfrid.

"You want to rebuild Dale but you can't let a fellow man start anew?" Alfrid calls to him.

"I know I've started on the wrong foot in everything I do, but will you not let me show you the good I have in me?"

Bard turns to face Alfrid, the club shaking in his hand.

"You put me in a locked cell! I almost burnt to death when the dragon attacked! I have children! Their mother is dead! Then you put my little daughter in a chokehold. You spread rumour that I wasn't doing my responsibility. You planned to shame my family and I when I was injured - no, I don't believe there is good in you Alfrid."

"Guilty as charged," Alfrid said.

"I'm sorry," the man continues and starts to cry. Bard becomes stumped at that show of emotion. While yelling to Alfrid has let off a lot of his anger, seeing Alfrid crying makes him feel like a bully. Alfrid is hunched like a fearful child and he stands a good two heads taller than the little man. Bard is also shocked at his own ability to feel that angry in front of another.

"I'm so very sorry," Alfrid continues bawling.

Bard becomes exasperated at that. Alfrid's already hunched shoulders jogs up and down in pitiful sobs.

"Oh, don't cry, Alfrid. You're too old to cry."

"I was with the old Master for too long. I didn't know how else to survive and make a living. I was still playing that role when I saw the way the people look up to you," Alfrid continues sobbing.

"When I told the people that you're the new king of Dale, I meant every word, in my own twisted way. I had no idea that I would offend you. And then I just went mad. How could you react differently to the words and grovelling I used to offer the old Master? I was so used to that. I thought you would like it. I thought any man would like it."

"Well, I'm not any man," Bard answers. He sighs at the pitiful sight of Alfrid. He himself has never cried in front of any one. He would cry once in a while, when he is alone in his boat, far out on the waters, thinking of the years passed and usually after he talked to his wife, just telling her things that happened to the children. Then he would come back to Lake-Town, feeling greatly relieved. He has never cried in front of his children. Not even when he is great physical pain. He is all that his children have and he has to be strong for them. And his children are all that he has. He will never make them feel unsafe or scared, if he could help it.

But Alfrid is snivelling on front of him like a child. Bard believes that tears do not come easily to a man. He has believed in the good of the hearts of dwarves and elves and it makes him feel guilty for not believing in the good of the hearts of men. Bard sighs. His heart feels heavy but what if he never gives Alfrid that chance to change, to become a better man? Will erase whatever little good left in Alfrid? Bard feels he is not ready to do that and becomes the witness of the consequence of his own action.

"Is there anything that I can do to make you stop crying?" Bard throws Bain's club to the floor and joins Alfrid, sitting on the stairs that lead to the landing to the Great Hall. Alfrid is already taking a swig at a bottle he brought along. Alfrid hands the bottle to Bard. Bard watches Alfrid gulps his liquor and sees that the man is now smiling a drunken smile. Bard takes a swig at it.

"It's the last of stuff we salvaged from Lake-Town," Alfrid tells him. Bard tastes the bitter-sweet hotness in his mouth, at the ready to cough it out if he tastes anything even slightly funny. But the ale tastes so good, tastes like a home of his past, the one he had with his wife and their babies, and Bard lets it slip into his throat.

"Never liked the elvish stuff," Alfrid comments.

"Me neither," Bard confesses.

"Tell me what can I do? I'll never touch a piece of the dwarves' gold," Alfrid offers.

"I swear. By the way, I have enough already," Alfrid says holding up his right hand. Bard looks into Alfrid's eyes and is touched by the way Alfrid holds his gaze.

"Tomorrow, we're going to hold a registration of the people of Dale. You know how to read and write. People will be lining up to register their family members. Be civil, show good standard of public service. And you will be paid, Alfrid. If you care for anything like that anymore," Bard says, his defences lowered by his desire to see good in anyone and of course, the good Lake-Town liquor.

"Sounds like a plan, Sire," Alfrid raises the bottle.

"And don't call me, sire. We have not appointed a leader yet, let alone a king. Call me by my name, Bard."

"Sounds like a plan, Bard. Let's drink to that."

The two eat and drink until the peace offering runs out.

*Alfrid leaves the Great Hall two hours after midnight. He stays hunched till he thinks that if Bard sees him walking away, Bard will feel sorry for thinking so poorly of him. After a distance, Alfrid's shoulders begin to shake.

"Bard, Bard, Bard," he says in a sing song voice. He walks on some more till he reaches a small unit, hidden under a flight great stairs that leads up to the city's bastion. Alfrid knocks softly on the door. An elderly woman juts her swarthy face through a suddenly open window.

"Is it ready?" Alfrid asks.

"Show me the gold first!" The woman hisses to his face.

Alfrid slaps two gold coins on the ledge of the window. The woman takes the coins and disappears and comes back with a small vial containing a transparent liquid. Alfrid holds it up to the light from the candle inside the cramped residence.

"Looks like water to me," Alfrid comments.

"Take it or leave it," the woman says.

"Your skill is renowned. I believe you. It doesn't matter if it doesn't work. I'll just come back for my gold. And destroy your house while I'm at it."

"It will work," the woman says.

"Good night," Alfrid takes his leave.

"What are you using it for?" She asks, as any expert is curious of the use of her products.

"There's a large wolf that I'm trying to skin. I'm thinking of starting a business after I'm done with that. Coats and such," Alfrid explains.

"That large wolf will fall like a log to your feet," the woman offers.

"We'll see about that."


	8. Chapter 8

_Don't you guys love Bard and the Bardlings? I do. I don't think I had enough of them. So, here goes. Sorry I have to hurt little Tilda but it's necessary to the plot._

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 8**

Tilda wakes up to a bustling room. Sigrid is making the beds. There are tinkering sound coming from the kitchen.

"Rise and shine, Tilds," Sigrid urges her. Tilda is ushered to the adjoining room which used to be the kitchen of the Dale's old royal family, now long gone. Her father and Bain are boiling water for breakfast and they have bread and butter on the table as well as some milk.

"How's my sweet pea?" Da asks and Tilda plops into his awaiting lap.

"Where's everyone rushing to?" Tilda asks, rubbing her eyes.

"Today is going to be a busy day. I have to get back to taking care of the city. Bain is going to join the men folk mending things. And Sigrid is going to the hospice," Da explains.

"I was with Sigrid at the hospice when you were sick. I didn't like it. So, I went back and slept with you while the Elf King took care of you. Am I a naughty girl, Da?"

"No, darling. You're not naughty. You're a child. How about if you get to know the other children and play some games? This is not Lake-Town anymore," Da says, dunking hard bread into a hot concoction and putting a small piece into her mouth.

"Really, Da?"

"Really. Make new friends. Have fun," Da urges.

"You hear that, Sigrid? Da says I can go out and play with the other children!" Tilda shouts to Sigrid who just came into the kitchen.

"Da, you're spoiling her!" Sigrid jokes.

"Your sister just wants you near, my sweet. She worries for her little sister," Da explains.

"Find me at the hospice if you get hungry, alright? And don't go too far from the hospice," Sigrid reminds her.

The girls give Da their kisses before they empty their quarters. Da and Bain leave together. Sigrid lets go of Tilda's hands as she jumps at the sight of a few children she knows from Lake-Town, all seemingly abandoned by their busy parents.

"Don't hurt yourself playing!" Sigrid yells and Tilda doesn't even look back at her sister.

Tilda joins a company of five children, and the roam the street of Dale, as their parents go on with the business of registration and repairing and taking care of the sick and injured. Soon the streets begins to bore them and one of them suggests that they play hide-and-seek, which is great according to Tilda because Dale has so many nooks and crannies, even for such a small area that they are covering now. A boy named Caelen volunteered as the seeker and the rest of them flee like chased chicks. Within seconds, Tilda finds herself a barrel that she fits in at the front of an old ironsmith workshop. She crawls into it and covers herself with a gunny sack which is lying around. She waits quite awhile, giddy with excitement. Soon, she finds out that she has hidden too well that Caelen can't find her. She is about to make her move when she hears the sound of footsteps. She thinks that Caelen is approaching and she doesn't want to be found yet.

But voices that follow the footsteps prove that they do not belong to Caelen.

"Alfrid's order is clear. He's going to take care of bringing Bard here and then we'll finish him when he's out of it. Then, we'll dump his body in the lake."

"Why can't we just cut him where he stands?"

"This is the man who killed Smaug the dragon and then slays a hundred or so orcs, a handful of goblins and yet lives to tell the tale. You don't want to get in his way."

"Right. Let Master Alfrid take care of the bloody details."

Tilda feels cold rushing to her face. These men are going to hurt her father. Alfrid is going to knock him out, kill him and then dump his body in the water. Tilda sits quietly as the men continue talking about their plan. She knows Alfrid Lickspittle. The man has qualm to hurt his father when he can manhandle young children like he did to her a few days ago. She hopes that they leave the ironsmith workshop soon enough so she can warn her father.

A sudden slithery movement on her leg makes Tilda freezes. Tilda wants to scream but she bits her lips. She closes her eyes, praying that whatever it is moving in the barrel on her leg will just stay quiet as she does. But the moment she thinks that, Tilda feels a sting in her ankle. Out of reflex, she screams and begins to struggle in the barrel, the urge to free herself overwhelming everything else.

The men who are planning their evil strategy, already very agitated rushed to the direction of the scream. Tilda looks at them from the mouth of the barrel, realizing that she has only one hope left.

"It's Bard's wee daughter!" One of them announces in frustration. Tilda's hope crumbles. The man pulls her roughly out of the barrel. A large red centipede goes out with her and one of them crushes it under his feet. A man holds Tilda by her shoulders tightly like a vice.

"I didn't hear anything!" Tilda says. "Let me go!"

"No, you're not going anywhere, little girl!"

The man pushes her into a dark corner of the warehouse. His accomplice ties her up in the ankle and wrists. Then, he ties a rag around her mouth so she stops screaming. They put a hood over her face so she can't see anything. Tilda cries as her ankle hurts. She wants nothing else right now to be in her father's safe arms once again.

"She's a kid!" One of the men says.

"Yeah. But she's Bard's kid."

"If we let her go, he'll find out and we'll get caught and get banished. You don't want to get banished ever! And you especially don't want to get banished in frigid winter!"

"This escalates very quickly."

"We'll wait till Alfrid gets back. See what he thinks."

Tilda closes her eyes. Tears run down her face. Everything hurts and that's not even the worst. What if these evil men did get her father? And Bain and Sigrid will spend the rest of their lives searching for them and asking questions that will never get answered.

*Sigrid walks to the main road near the city's gates. She sees Bain hauling a wheelbarrow full of rocks. He looks tired but determined, face full of soot. Sigrid walks toward her elder.

"Sigrid, what are you doing here?" Bain asks and stands as he wipes his face.

"Have you seen Tilda?"

"No. Isn't she with you?"

"No."

"She can't be here."

"It's my fault really. I was swamped at the hospice. I forgot about Tilda," Sigrid hunches her shoulder.

"How's Mr. Wintryhook?" Bain asks about a patient that Sigrid was telling him about last night.

"He didn't make it," Sigrid says, with a slight hitch in her voice.

"I'm so sorry," Bain says and holds her by the shoulder.

"When?"

"Just now, and then I realized that I didn't see Tilda the whole day," Sigrid says, barely holding in her tears.

"You didn't ask Da?"

"No, Da has his hands full. I don't want to make him worried. He's not fully recovered."

"Let's go look for Tilda," Bain says and speaks to an elder over-looking the repairs of the main road.

The sun sets faster in winter. It gets darker earlier and that makes Sigrid more worried. It is as if the light of the sun is the source of her strength. As darkness comes, she feels threatened. It is time for them to get inside and hide from the darkness. But they can't do that as they can't find their little sister. Their father has depended on her to take care of little Tilda and she has let him down. Da is running the whole city and she can't even take care of her little sister. Bain probably sees the possessed look in her eyes and guess the thoughts running in her head.

"Hey, we'll find her alright?"

Sigrid smiles anxiously. The two ask around for a few hours and the sun finally descended. It is dark now. They found the boy Caelen and he says that they played hide-and-seek together and he never found her. Then his mother called him home for lunch and he forgot all about the whole game. Listening to Caelen's story makes Sigrid feels like dying.

The two calls on their sister but the city has too many hidden parts and it is now covered in darkness. Tilda does not respond to their call.

*Bard looks at the gold he took from Erebor. He has counted them and put them into portions, ready for distribution the next morning. He wishes the elf guards a good evening and walks to the market square. There he sees Alfrid alone, still checking his list. Bard is not yet ready to fully trust Alfrid, but seeing the man so possessed in his work makes his heart swell. That guilty feeling creeps again into his heart, for not yet forgiving Alfrid for what he has done over the years till recently.

"Not getting any of that dragon-sickness, are you?" Alfrid says as soon as he sees him.

"How was registration?" Bard asks him.

"Done. It's done," Alfrid shows him reams and reams of parchment.

"It's been a long day, Alfrid."

"That is a cause to celebrate!" Alfrid says and pulls out two shot glasses from his pockets and a bottle of ale. He pours himself a glass and another for Bard. Bard looks at the liquor with furrowed brows.

"You still have some more of that Lake-Town ale?"

"I saved them for tonight. I know this day is going to be important," Alfrid says and holds his glass in the air.

"To Dale," Alfrid says.

Bard gives a half smile and gestured to Alfrid with his shot glass, not touching it.

"To Dale," Bard responds.

Alfrid drank his portion immediately. Bard does the same. The ale taste better. Better than last night. Perhaps too much better. Then his vision blurs and his head feels like someone has struck him with a club. Bard musters all his strength to stay conscious. He feels his knees giving away.

"You son of a –" Bard stares at Alfrid, anger in his weakening eyes. If looks could kill, Alfrid should have turned to dust right now.

Before Bard could fall to the ground, two of Alfrid's men came out from the shadows and prop Bard up from under his armpits. Then Bard goes out cold, the drug taking full effect. Alfrid is actually shaking, as if he thought that Bard would have managed to claw at his throat and the drug not working fully and all sorts of other ways his plan could fail have been playing in his mind.

"Are we going to finish him now?" One of his two goons asks.

"No. I don't want to make a mess here. Take him to the old workshop."

Alfrid feels better now. Everything is happening as planned. Soon, Dale will be leaderless. And he has the town manifest and the manpower. He will be King of Dale. The real and ready King of Dale.

"If anyone says anything, just say that he's drunk," Alfrid says as the three begin their plod to the smith workshop.


	9. Chapter 9

_Happy New Year everyone!_

**Saving the Saviour: Chapter 9**

_(BAIN)_

"Something's not right," Bain says. Sigrid's eyes tell him that she feels the same way too.

"Go to the Treasury, and ask for the elf guards' help. Tell them I'm at the southern quadrant. Ask them about father too!" Bain instructs his sister. The gut feeling that he has is telling him something's wrong is stronger than ever now.

"But you'll be alone. Where will you find Tilda?" Sigrid voices out her worry.

"That's why is I need the help of the elves. They'll track my footprints. They'll find me if I get lost. And they'll find Tilda."

"I'm scared. What if I lose you too?"

"You won't. We're probably overreacting to this. Everything will be fine, Sigrid," Bain says, looking into Sigrid's eyes. He is scared out of his wits himself. But he can't stay strong for Sigrid, they will both fall apart.

Sigrid nods and leaves, her feet click-clacking in the moon-lit night. Bain stands in the middle of the street and thinks. He begins at the spot where the little boy Caelen said he last saw Tilda. In his mind, he sees children scampering away from the boy, finding a hiding spot. Where would Tilda go? Bain walks on until he sees a dark alley. He turns into it and examines his surroundings. Old ploughs and tools for farming and fishing and metal works are piled against the wall of a small establishment, looking like some kind of a work shop. He sees barrels arranged against the wall. Bain's heart jumps out of his ribcage when he sees one barrel, lying on the ground, out of alignment from the others. There is a gunny sack near it and an aggressive pounding on the ground that resulted in a large centipede crushed to bits. The details are too distracting for Bain to ignore. He finds that the barrels lead him to a door. From the gap between the wooden planks Bain sees that the room is lit with fire light. It is occupied by men, all standing with their backs to the door.

He can hear every word that they are saying.

_(BARD)_

Alfrid's voice is an echo in his drugged mind. Bard fought his hardest to stay awake as long as he could even though his body has given up. He lost it in the end but now his senses are coming to. He thinks he mustn't have been out of it for too long.

"Tie him up. Wrists and ankles," Alfrid orders as soon as they reached the ironsmith workshop.

"Bar the door."

Alfrid stops short when he sees another figure seated at the corner of the ironsmith shop, the head covered and her extremities tied up. Bard's vision is still blurry. He still can't move his hands or even turn his head. But he can hear really well right now.

"Who is this?" Alfrid asks the three other men on guard. They did not answer so Alfrid walks over and pulls the hood. Alfrid's face shows a moment of deep terror. In front of him is a tearful face of a little girl of eight winters, easily recognisable to Alfrid as the Bargeman's youngest daughter.

"I specifically told you not to involve the children!" Alfrid yells at his men.

"She overheard us!"

"Unlucky for her," Alfrid's face changes. He is no longer afraid but resolute.

"Let's finish this."

At that moment, Bard's senses and bearings come to completely and he starts struggling against his bound wrists and ankles.

"The drug wears off to fast. I was planning to kill you in your sleep," Alfrid says in annoyance.

"Son of a –" Bard is about to launch into a tirade of anger when he sees his little daughter seated across the room from him, her eyes filled with tears and her mouth gagged. He puts his temper on hold. He can't risk her daughter's life just to get off at Alfrid.

"Let her go, Alfrid. Your quarrels are with me. She has nothing to do with this," Bard begs. Alfrid sighs and pulls out a dark, wavy blade, orc-made obviously from his sleeve and steps towards Bard.

"So, I will spare you the pain seeing your daughter hurt," Alfrid says.

A crashing sound interrupts Alfrid's moment. A young boy, barely a man, stumbles into the room like a drunkard because of the force that he used to break the barred door with his body. Alfrid turns with his knife, looking at the intruder.

"Bain! No!" Bard warns his son.

But Bain is already on his feet. He throws his whole body into Alfrid, knocking the man to the ground. The two fall in a heap, Alfrid underneath and Bain on top.

"NO!" Bard yells, to no avail because he regretfully, with dark and deep fear in his soul, knows the outcome of this altercation.

"Get off me!" Alfrid says in annoyance and pushed Bain off him. Bain rolls off Alfrid with a dazed expression.

"Son? Bain?" Bard speaks to his son. His eyes inadvertently are focused on Alfrid's hand. The man still has the blade, there is blood on Alfrid's hand.

"Now look at what you have done,boy," Alfrid says.

Fear strikes Bard like lightning. He sees Bain holding on to his belly, still lying on the ground. Bain holds up his hand to his face and sees his own blood on it.

"Da!" Bain calls out in panic. Tilda is crying, but there is no sound escaping because of her gag.

_(LEGOLAS)_

"Tauriel!" He whispers to his Captain, seeing from far a girl running towards the two of them. Tauriel takes her on-guard stance, arrow on bow.

"Help! Have you seen my father? My sister is missing. My brother is searching for her. I fear for their safety, " the girl says in-between breaths.

"You're the Dragon Slayer's daughter," Tauriel says, recognising Sigrid instantly.

"We assumed that he has gone home," Legolas offers. Sigrid shakes her head.

"Help us, please!" Sigrid pleads. Tauriel nods but Legolas turns to her.

"Don't leave the Treasury. I'll take care of this, Tauriel. This could be a ruse to get to the dwarves' gold."

Tauriel nods. Legolas feels warmth spreading in his neck as he sees Tauriel believes him to handle the situation that will help all.

"Where is your brother?"

"In the southern quadrant," Sigrid says.

Legolas takes off, his feet barely touching the ground. The lay of the city comes naturally to him, as he sees the night in sight, sounds and smells and the circles of energy that only the elven kind can see. In the blink of an eye of a human, Legolas is led to the location of the Dragon Slayer's son. As Legolas slips into the room fraught with the energy of evil and cruelty, a heavy feeling tells him that he is too late. He comes with his arrow ready at the string of his bow.

His millennia-trained eyes recognised the men posing threat and he fires his arrows at them with precision. One by one they fell, injured but alive because he thinks that men like them deserve judgement and suffer the consequences of their actions. They do not deserve a quick death.

Legolas sees the Dragon Slayer's son lying in fetal position on the ground, his shoulders heaving as if he is crying. Legolas sees the fearful face of the man whose dark energy is pulsating like a whirpool and strikes him square in the head with his bow. Alfrid Lickspittle falls like a log to the ground.

"Legolas! Untie me!" The Dragon Slayer calls to him and Legolas does as requested. Sigrid, who has fallen many steps behind Legolas barges into the workshop and stands there amazed.

"See to your little sister!" Legolas orders her. Sigrid unties Tilda, undoes the gag and holds her tight. Tilda weeps. Sigrid has tears falling off her face.

Bard slowly takes his son's hand away from his wound. Legolas can see it is deep, to the left of his navel, nearer to the hipbones but not quite there. Bard holds his son's pale face.

"Look at me, Bain. Look at me," Bard says, as Bain is overwhelmed by pain. Bain seems not to be able to find his father even though he is right in front of him.

"I'm here, son. I'm right here."

"Da, it hurts," Bain moans, finally his eyes met his father's.

"I know, son. But you're safe now," Bard says, pressing on the wound. Bain gasps in pain.

"Sigrid, give me your scarf," Bard says to her daughter. Sigrid hands it to her father and Bard presses the scarf on Bain's wound.

"Bring your son to Tauriel. She's at the Treasury," Legolas tells to Bard.

"She can help your son. I'll see to that these evil men are locked up."

Bard picks up Bain in his arms, the young boy's head cradled against his chest and Bard runs to the treasury with his son in his arms.

A few concerned citizens have emerged in the streets, following the boy Caelen's story that Bard the Dragon Slayer's little daughter is missing and they have come out to see what they can do, albeit it is too late.

"These men have hurt innocent children because of greed. Lock them up until they can be judged," Legolas announces to the gathering crowd. Men begin to shuffle busily to take the criminals into custody. Thus, the first arrest in the history of new city of Dale happens.

Legolas slips away from the crowd. He takes a horse and takes a ride out of Dale.

_(TAURIEL)_

Tauriel stands at her post, as taut as drawn bowstring, her senses completely in tune with her surroundings. She hears quick footsteps and heavy breathing. She never doubts Legolas' fighting prowess and his wisdom, but she worries about him sometimes. They are both far from home, the balance of the world barely hanging on an uneven fulcrum, there might a few lose orcs here and there. Tauriel readies her bow and arrow and takes aim.

But it is Bard the Dragon Slayer, with his son cradled in his arms.

"Help me, Captain. My son is stabbed by orc blade," the man pleas in between breaths. Tauriel keeps her weapon.

"Take him inside," Tauriel orders as she opens the door to the treasury.

"Light the fire," she says and Bard does as she says. Bard sets his son on the floor and pillows his head with his folded coat.

"Hold his hand when you're done," Tauriel advises softly. The fire is lit. Bard kneels next to Bain, and grips his hand.

"Da, I feel cold."

"It's winter," Bard jokes. Bain smiles weakly.

"But I'm here and I'll keep you warm," Bard says and softly touches his son's hair, and wiping the cold sweat on his forehead.

Bard looks into Tauriel's eyes. Tauriel wishes he doesn't see the fear in them.


	10. Chapter 10

_Phew! It's finally over. Now I can go on with my life. I wished that BOTFA got the ending ROTK you to all my loyal readers especially zade 12 who never fails to drop a review._

**Saving the Saviour: Final Chapter**

The people are getting impatient. Bard has to leave Bain's bedside to deal with the mob outside the Great Hall. His heart only wishes to be by Bain's side but he has to appease the crowd, so Bain can have some peace and calm. Alfrid and the four men who conspired with him are put in chains at the landing. Now and then, there is rotten food thrown at the men. Bard wants so much that someone would throw rocks at these heartless men, but it pains him to see that Dale's history should be marred by public lynching.

"Alfrid stabbed your son! Still you're going to show him mercy?" Someone shouted.

"As much as I want these men dead for hurting my children, we are not savages," Bard says from the Great Hall's balcony.

"Dale will be remembered for its fairness and rightful sense of justice," Bard continues.

"So you will let murderers to run free in Dale!"

"My son is not dead!" Bard yells. He wishes that he has more conviction in saying that.

"My son's not dead..." he barely whispers now. BArd is reminded of blood pouring out of Bain like spilled water. He remembers that Bain became too weak to speak or open his eyes. He remembers that the she elf Tauriel has very little to work with. A dwarf has two hundred years to live, the elves thousands and men just a little after fifty years. Men are weakest even whole bodied, and they suffer most during injuries. Bard is reminded how Bain lose consciousness even before Tauriel could begin her work.

For every moment that passes, Bard feels that he dies a little bit each time. He is praying for a miracle that can save everybody. He swears that if Bain dies, he will not show these men mercy. And that is not something that will look pretty in Dale's annals for decades to come. How can so much history depends on only one thing, the thing he needs the most?

A tug at his sleeve makes Bard turns around. Tilda gestures to something behind him.

It is Tauriel coming up to him, her face rigid and her eyes wide.

Then Tauriel's face breaks into a smile and the elven lightness that he sees when Thranduil is pleased is reflected on her face. Bard can barely breathe.

"Your son shall live," Tauriel says.

Bard runs inside, the city be damned. Sigrid is with Bain, crying and smiling at the same time. Bard kneels next to his son. Bain's eyelids flutter.

"Da," Bain whispers. Bard holds Bain's hand and put them on his chest. He feels his son's heartbeat.

"Bain," Bard.

"You're alright, you're alright," Bards gushes, almost weeping.

"What chaos! And I have only been gone for two days."

The familiar voice makes Bard spin his head. Thranduil stands at the foot of Bain's bed. Bard has the feeling that Bain's revival is owed to him.

"Thranduil, you're back!"

"Your son will survive this ordeal. He's a strong young man."

"Thank you."

"And what say you to the men who did this to your son?"

Bard looks into Bain's eyes and says without hesitation.

"Banishment. For life. If they show their faces in Dale again, I will kill them with my bare hands."

*It takes five days for Bain to get back on his feet. Bard divides his time between watching over his son and managing the city. Thranduil and the elves suggests that a coronation is held as soon as possible to avoid prevent anarchy. A consensus is held and without the agitation caused by Alfrid, the citizens unanimously elect Bard as the King of Dale. The support of the elven kingdom of Mirkwood consolidates Bard's place as the people's new leader among other reasons that he is the most illegible candidate.

The coronation is held at the Great Hall, watched on by the on-the-mend Bain, Sigrid and Tilda. Among the honourable guests are royalty from kingdoms of men, Rohan dan Gondor. Emissaries from elven kingdoms of Rivendell, Lothlorien and Noldor are also present. The coronation is held in solemnness, without fanfare and waste. It is a coronation in a city getting back on its feet.

"The age of the elves is coming to an end," Thranduil says.

"This is the beginning of the dominion of men."

King Thranduil puts the elven made crown on the Dragon Slayer's head.

"Long live King Bard, the King of Dale!" King Thranduil proclaims to the crowd.

The people holler in unison. KingThranduil nods and pulls Bard into his embrace, adopting the gesture used by men to show camaraderie and affection. Bard the Dragon Slayer responds to the gesture readily. Bain, Sigrid and Tilda run to their father and they gather in his embrace.

"We're so proud of you, Da!" Tilda says.

"The three of you are my life," Bard says, finally feeling relief after one test after another came to him ever since the coming of the dwarves to Lake-Town.

"Your mother would be proud of all of you."

"She's proud of you too, Da!" Tilda says. Bard laughs, tears in his eyes.

*The wind blows frigidly and the first snow of winter has fallen. A lone figure dressed in black hunched slowly along the bridge away from Dale, passing the now charred Lake-Town. Two elves on horseback are following them. When they have arrived on the shore of the opposite side, one of them, the woman elf with red hair, reads out the sentence.

"Alfrid Lickspittle, former citizen of Lake-Town. You are sentenced to a lifetime of banishment from the city Dale. You're to leave and never to return henceforth. If you're seen in Dale, the ruler of the city bears the right to execute you."

Alfrid Lickspittle walks on, never to be seen again by people who have memory of him.

_THE END_


End file.
